Messina Sunlight
by imnotacommittee
Summary: Some drabbles featuring Beatrice and Benedick (Catherine Tate/David Tennant version of MAAN)
1. Veils

**Disclaimer: **Shakespeare, thank you for creating these two wonderful characters.

**A/N**: These two little stories are not related other than featuring Beatrice and Benedick (and sunlight). For visualization, I see David Tennant and Catherine Tate's portrayals as Benedick and Beatrice.

This chapter takes place before the events of MAAN.

**Veils**

Wiping the sweat from his brow for the fifth time in ten minutes, Benedick exhaled loudly. He was due to the Prince's training in an hour, and a full afternoon of jousting in the unrelenting Messina sun was enough to make him consider resigning from the ranks.

He looked around; mostly all doors were closed to him. He knew the pubs on the other side of town would be open. But he wasn't in the mood to be surrounded by whatever locals would be there.

He turned and saw one open threshold; to a small chapel. Eagerly, he rushed inside. It's most likely to be dark and cool within those walls, he thought. And quiet.

But not empty.

Upon entering, Benedick found one other soul: a woman kneeling before a pair of tombs. He paused, unsure who the woman was; a mantilla of purest white covered her head, and she was hunched over in prayer. Loathe to disturb her, Benedick quietly sat in the back, not so much speaking to his Savior but relishing in the muted light and the refreshing chill of the building.

A light cough filled the silence, bringing Benedick's attention back to the front. The woman slowly stood, arching her back. She turned slowly, pushing the lace covering away from her face. Benedick froze, suddenly feeling too hot in the cold sanctuary.

It was Beatrice.

Benedick frowned as he glanced behind her, realizing which tombs she had been kneeling before. When her eyes fell to him, she stiffened. Clearly, she had not heard him enter.

Out of respect for her mourning, Benedick rose automatically. He often found himself cross and weary after sparring with the proud and haughty niece of Leonarto, but she was a Lady. And no one could accuse Benedick of not following decorum. Also, he was willing to be courteous after seeing her in such a private moment.

She blinked, removing the mantilla as she walked by. Her fiery hair reflected the candlelight, making her glow. Benedick was struck still for a moment. But she offered a stiff and thankful smile as she passed.

Benedick listened to her footfalls recede, happy for true seclusion at last. Two forces of nature were just outside: the high-noon sun and Beatrice. He was in no mood to engage in either. He stared hard at the small altar, studying the bright colors of the Resurrection-themed triptych.

A thought came to him, and he stood quickly. He approached the spot where Beatrice had been kneeling. He knew so little of her; she never shared anything other than jabs and insults.

Looking at the names and dates, his frown deepened. It was the anniversary of her mother's death. He felt a stab of sympathy for her. He inwardly swore at himself; it would not do to start feeling warmth for the detached Beatrice.

But he turned to the entrance, feeling an odd compulsion he was reluctant to admit to. With a final nod of respect for the dead, he rushed outside, not wanting to dwell on why he wanted Beatrice to still be close by.

He found her quickly enough, sitting under the purple canopy of a Jacaranda tree. She apparently still craved solitude, but he felt a need to be near her. Inhaling and wondering what on earth he was thinking, he walked over to her.

Beatrice stood quickly, her shoulders squared for whatever sparring Benedick would instigate. She was in no mood to battle with him today.

But his palms rose to face her, and his expression was earnest. That only made her more cautious.

"My Lady, my condolences on your loss."

His voice was so unexpectedly soft, Beatrice did not know if she'd heard him correctly. She glared, wondering when the bait would be dropped for her to take.

But none came. Benedick knew she'd be defensive, and he wanted to convey his regard. His mouth contorted into a smile.

Stepping back, Beatrice nodded in acknowledgment. "I thank you, Signor," she said awkwardly. She looked around at the empty courtyard. "And what brought you into the chapel this afternoon?"

"The sun is merciless in Messina, is it not?"

She nodded. "I would think you'd seek relief in the public houses of town," she said.

He grinned. "Aye, one will find no fiercer companions than in the local establishments," he said. "Whose loyalty is strong while the spirits are running freely."

She scoffed. "Or whose actions are so foolish when emboldened by drink."

He nodded. "In truth, I was in search of some isolation."

Her eyebrows rose. "Really?"

Benedick was a little affronted. "In truth, yes! The peace of a chapel can be quite welcoming when one is in need of it," he said. At her dubious look, he grinned and shrugged. "And the Prince would not take kindly to his officers being inebriated upon training."

Her eyes widened. "You are to train today?"

"Aye," he said. "We start in an hour."

"In this heat?"

"I have fought battles under less forgiving skies."

She seemed sobered by the thought before regarding the insignia upon his chest. "Tell me, does the sun shine so brightly in Padua?" She rung her hands together, feeling off with the possibly civil conversation. Blaming the heat for the tingling running through her body, she looked away.

Benedick was silenced for a moment, staring at her. The sun laced through the flowered branches, divining an illuminated veil upon her sunrise-colored hair. Once again, she seemed to shine from within. He swallowed, rattled by the unexpected emotions stirring within him.

The words were out before he could stop them. "Messina as the the most radiant visions in all of Italy." Mortified, he whipped his head away.

Beatrice froze, not sure what to make of such a statement. Benedick was never to be taken seriously. She knew that better than anyone. But she believed he'd been sincere when offering his condolences. And yet, she was too well-practiced to let herself think he was actually going to remain kind to her. Bewildered, she turned to see him facing the ocean. He stood tall and bold. The daylight sharpened his strong edges. She inhaled, a sense of security enfolding her. It had been years since she'd felt so at peace. Which confused her all the more.

Benedick cleared his throat and shifted a little. It was rare that Beatrice was without something to say. He should have felt victorious at finally stopping her mouth. But the wind shifted her hair, and all conscious thoughts floated away from his mind as he beheld her.

He reached up and plucked a flower from the tree. Without stepping closer, he extended it out to her.

"In your family's honor," he said softly.

Beatrice took a tiny step toward him, accepting the offering. Without waiting for a response, he pivoted and started to walk away.

Beatrice inhaled the sweet fragrance, her heart jumping a little.

He was nearly too far when she shouted. "Benedick!"

He turned.

She raised the flowers upward in gratitude. "Godspeed."

The Signor dipped forward in acknowledgement before turning to join his regiment.


	2. A Sunlit Respite

**Disclaimer: **Shakespeare, thank you for creating these two wonderful characters.

**A/N**: This takes place shortly after the events of the play have concluded.

**A Sunlit Respite**

The sun has started its decent. But it remains strong, as if it, too, does not want the day to end. The small stretch of sand behind Leonarto's villa is vacant, save a few gulls occasionally swooping to the sea's surface.

Laughter soon joins the calm mantra of the crashing waves. Two people run across the sand, occasionally catching each other's hands and spinning around. They're two adults: one a decorated soldier in the Prince's service, the other a refined lady of the manor.

But love has struck them this day, united forever before God and family. Their unexpectedly entwined destinies have softened them into dancing, merry youths-at-heart.

Beatrice kicks off her white sandals. The light breeze makes her diaphanous, seashell-hued dress float around her like a cloud. As pragmatic as she is, even Beatrice could not fathom being wedded while wearing mourning black. Her companion stares for a second, his face seemingly forever fixed in an expression of pure joy.

She laughs and spins, her red hair flying free of its chignon.

Benedick can bear the separation of three feet no longer and catches her mid-spin. His arms grab around her waist and he twirls her in the opposite direction. Their laughter floats away into the sea.

"My dearest Beatrice," he says, setting her down. "I see I am not alone in feeling like I could fly."

Normally scoffing at such poetic nonsense, Beatrice is nothing but elation. "Aye, my love." She casts a look behind her to the governor's villa before stepping a little closer in a conspiring stance. "And thank you for obliging me."

He grins. "And here I thought I was the one who wanted to be alone," he whispers, leaning closer and kissing her sweetly.

Beatrice's heart flutters in their embrace. The new sensations he has awakened both thrill and scare her. But he is gentle. Ending their kiss, he smiles.

Blushing under his adoring gaze, her fingers dance along the insignia upon his shoulder. "I would never confess to admiring your attire before. But I find your uniform suits you well. You look quite dashing."

He steps back, keeping her hands in his as their arms extend. "I will wear it daily if my lady wishes it," he vows.

"Oh, but then I shall tire of it."

His eyebrows rise. "And shall you tire of your husband?"

She doesn't think such a thing is possible. But she'd never admit to it. "Perhaps one day I will have to remind myself of your good parts," she says. His eyes sparkle as she pulls him closer. "But not today."

He leans in to kiss her again, but she laughs playfully and turns. He reaches out for her, but she has escaped, running ankle deep into the warm Tyrrhenian waters. A slightly larger wave envelopes her legs, making her dress darken and wrap around her shapely form. Benedick swallows. Surely God cannot be so kind to him as to grant him this vision for the rest of his days.

He discards his shoes and socks, eager to join her. When he nears, he sees fire in her eyes. She cradles his face within her hands and he leans down to meet his lips to hers. He is stunned at the passion in her. His arms wrap around her back, bringing her closer than ever before. Her light moan tickles his mouth. Tentatively, his tongue runs along her lips, and to his everlasting joy, she allows him in. He gently explores, finding her matching him in their little dance. She dips a little as her knees weaken, and he holds her to him firmly.

She gasps as they finally break apart. He smiles tenderly as his hands rest upon her hips, keeping her close. He rests his forehead against hers.

"In truth," she whispers, "do you really feel as you said earlier?"

"In what way?"

She blushes. "That you won't have a word said against marriage?"

He gathers a little of her hair, rubbing it between his fingers. "I love being married to you."

She closes her eyes and sighs in pure bliss.

"And you? Do you still prefer to hear your dog barking at a crow than speeches of love?" he asks.

She looks up at him and smirks. "If my memory has not faltered, your declaration wasn't much better than a dog's howl."

He grins. Their merry war will never end, and the idea of their bantering future makes his heart beat faster.

But her mockery is quickly replaced by tenderness. "I can believe only one man when he says he loves me," she says.

His head dips closer. "And who might that be?"

"Oh, some poor jester I married."

Snorting, he leans down and kisses her again, finding themselves lost to everything but each other. Time seems to suspend, measured by the soft waves unfolding upon the shore.

The lovers are pulled from their isolated rapture by an upsurge of music. They turn to see the villa suddenly completely ablaze with lights.

Beatrice leans into him. "I suppose it will be bad form to miss the festivities in our honor."

"We can claim we thought they were for Hero and Claudio."

"My aunt will never forgive me," she mutters.

Benedick takes her hand in his and brings it to his lips. "To the ball, then my Lady?"

She rolls her eyes, but she cannot restrain her smile. Hand in hand, they walk back to the villa.


	3. Blithe and Precipice

_These two little snippets were requests from tumblr. They kind of lead into each other and could possible be prequels to "A Sunlit Respite"_

**Blithe (a request to show what happened right after the 2011 production ended.)**

Beatrice stopped short when the music ceased. Her breathing was quickened, and she knew it had nothing to do with the euphoric dancing that had just filled the entire villa. Looking over at Benedick, her flushed cheeks increased in color.

"Nonny!" her betrothed repeated, his grin impossibly wide.

Her eyes sparking, Beatrice waved to the child in front of them. "Fitting he plays with a puzzle," she said. "I feel as if everything is all a blur."

He stepped closer. "Not I," he said. His close proximity did nothing to ease her rapid heartbeat. "I have never seen more clearly."

Beatrice leaned in, all too eager to seize his mouth once again. In truth, the sensation of his lips on hers had been the most unexpectedly pleasant sensations of her life. She found herself yearning to have more. To have more and never end.

Benedick, thrilled at her forwardness, raised his arms to reclaim her.

Hero rushed forward, stealing her cousin away in a strong embrace. Benedick stepped back, swallowing his frustration.

"Is it true!?" Hero exclaimed. "Are you engaged, cousin? Truly?"

From across the room, Leonarto's countenance was firm but merry. "From that display earlier, Benedick had better marry her."

The red of Beatrice's hair seemed to transcend down her body; she was radiant in her happiness. She shyly met Benedick's eyes. "I am indeed."

Benedick masked his joy with a mischievous smile. "Well, not quite," he corrected. Beatrice blinked, and Hero cast a nervous look at her father.

Digging into his jacket pocket, Benedick produced the boxed ring once again. This time, Beatrice did not recoil in embarrassment. Their gazes locked, Benedick placed the ring on her finger. "Do not you love me?" he whispered.

"Aye, poor fool," she answered and leaned to him. This time, nothing could deter her from her goal. The kiss was gentle; a hopeful promise for their future.

Leonarto clapped his hands, bringing the attention of all to him. "Let us remove these somber banners! For today is a day of celebration!"

Swallowing, Beatrice approached her aunt and uncle, Benedick's hand in hers.

"Uncle," she asked, her voice uncharacteristically soft, "I pray you. When shall Benedick and I recite our vows?"

Surprised, her guardian stared at her.

"For today surely is meant for Hero."

Innogen's eyes filled and seized her niece, hugging her like any mother would. "Today is for both my beloved girls!" she exclaimed.

Leonarto reached up to brush Beatrice's cheek. She resembled his dear sister so closely, sometimes his breath caught at the likeness. "Aye, my dear," he agreed. "To have my two lovely ladies happily married is the deepest joy I could ask for."

Beatrice nodded with a throat too constricted for words. Benedick wrapped his arms around her waist; she would never be without family.

"Perhaps, the Count would like to change into his uniform," Don Pedro suggested, working on his third cigarette in ten minutes.

Claudio straightened and regarded his former comrade. "And Benedick?"

The Prince turned and met the Signor's eye. He held up the letter stating Benedick's resignation. "Shall you remain a civilian, Benedick?"

Inhaling, Benedick turned to meet Beatrice's gaze. "The decision is yours, my Lady."

A little stunned, Beatrice smiled. "Today, I shall marry a soldier. For tomorrow, I might demand he return to the battlefield."

"Tomorrow, I might indeed welcome a war," Benedick quipped but hugged Beatrice close. Shaking his head with secret satisfaction, Don Pedro quickly tore the letter into shreds.

"Please, Lady Beatrice!" Margaret begged. She grabbed the Lady's arm in an attempt to pull her away from her betrothed. "Allow me to see you properly fitted for your marriage."

Beatrice laughed. "Very well, Meg, you shall see me in frills just this once," she said. "I beg you allow me just one minute." The younger women skipped away.

Turning to Benedick, Beatrice's hands fell into his.

"I shall count the moments until I see you again," he pledged, "when we will stand at the altar and promise to forever be joined."

Elated, Beatrice's eyes danced. "A lifetime of witty skirmishes. Are you made of strong enough metal?"

"Strong enough to behold my Lady until the end of my days," he vowed.

"I look forward to that challenge." Loathe to part from him, Beatrice leaned up and kissed him, a little shyly. Tenderly, his fingers laced through her hair.

Separating, Beatrice grinned. "Until then, soldier of my heart."

* * *

**Precipice (a little while later)**

Ursula placed a small white flower in Beatrice's hair. The Lady exhaled, nerves making her uncharacteristically quiet. The gentlewoman rubbed her shoulders.

"You are quite the beauty, my Lady," she said. "Just like your mother."

Beatrice blinked, bittersweet tears threatening to spill.

"Oh!" Ursula fussed, running over. "Don't cry!"

Beatrice laughed a little, dabbing her cheeks. "I never thought myself to be standing here, about to take vows of matrimony."

The older woman smiled. "It happens to the best of us," she said. "You, my dear, will have a very happy marriage."

"That's a bold prediction, considering I swore so strongly against it," Beatrice said.

With twinkling eyes, Ursula fussed with Beatrice's loose chignon. "That is how I know," she said. "For you know your mind and your heart. Yours is a union of equals. You and Benedick are truly of one soul."

At hearing her betrothed's name, Beatrice's heart leaped. She was positive her attendant could hear its rapid pace.

"And I've never seen a man more in love than Benedick."

"Truly?"

Ursula nodded. "Aye," she affirmed. "By the way he looks upon you, I would think he's beholding the heavens themselves."

Beatrice wrung her hands nervously. "We shall see if his gaze alters in ten years' time."

Ursula stepped back and regarded her. Beatrice swallowed under the older woman's knowing scrutiny. "Treat each day like a gift, even those where you are cross with each other. For you are to grow and learn in everything together."

Beatrice nodded.

"And I don't have to tell you to be unafraid of speaking your mind," Ursula laughed. "You will both benefit for treating everything like comrades in arms."

Beatrice laughed. "A fitting description." She smoothed down her gown. She was dressed in a soft dress of the lightest shade of pink. It sailed around her as she shifted slightly. A silly grin spread over her features. Proud Beatrice, acting like a besotted school girl.

The door opened, revealing Hero and her mother.

"Oh, cousin!" the younger woman exclaimed, rushing over. "You are beautiful!" She hugged her fellow bride closely.

Beatrice smiled, the thunder of her heartbeat starting to eclipse everything. She regarded her cousin. The girl's ostentatious gown from her first disastrous attempt at wedding vows had been replaced by a simple dress of the purest white.

"Are your nerves as the same as mine, cousin?" Hero asked.

"If you mean barely able to stand due to my legs being changed to paper, than yes," Beatrice replied.

Innogen walked over to her niece, a small bouquet of flowers in her hand. She held them up. "You have brought Leonarto and me much happiness, Beatrice," she said. "I pray you and Benedick nothing but joy in your marriage."

Beatrice tucked in her lower lip and nodded.

"And when your merry war reaches a peak, may your reconciling be worth the battle," she added with a devious little smirk. Beatrice's entire form heated to match her hair.

"Mother!"

The older woman shared a wink with Ursula.

Margaret opened the door. "It is time," she said with an excited little squeak.

Her face suddenly white, Hero turned to Beatrice, who was equally wide-eyed. They held each other's free hands as they followed the others out.

Standing in the back of the small family chapel, Beatrice risked a peek to the altar. She could see many people walking around, getting into their places. Impatient and fighting off Margaret's chastising attempts to pull her away, she searched for Benedick. She needed to see him.

There.

He was dressed sharply in his uniform, standing tall and firm. His back to her, his jacket pulled a little on his shoulders as he took a deep breath. He was off to the side, in front of a pair of marked tombs. The tears fell freely when Beatrice realized he was standing before her parents' graves.

This man was indeed the finest in Italy.

"Beatrice!" Margaret admonished. Her irritation turned to horror at the Lady's wet eyes, and reached for her endless supply of tissues.

"Oh, I am fine, Meg," Beatrice said, swatting away. She exchanged a small grin with her fellow bride. "I am completely fine." Hero nodded in agreement.

They took their positions, and the music started to rise.

All Beatrice could see was Benedick as she started to walk forward. His jaw dropped slightly when he beheld her. All too eager, he actually took a tiny step toward her. Don Pedro snorted and kept his friend in place.

Beatrice sighed. All apprehension melted away, and she all but floated the rest of the way.


	4. Ere I Went to Wars

_This might be seen as shippier than they were pre-MAAN. But I like to think their defenses came down once in a while. This takes place prior to the events of the play, before Don Pedro's soldiers departed._

**Ere I Went to Wars**

It seemed like the whole of Messina had come to see them off. Despite the victory everyone was sure Don Pedro's company would have, there was still an air of sobriety to the normally cheerful town.

Claudio awkwardly chased glances at young Hero, who blushed whenever she'd meet his eyes. Don Pedro and his brother were walking around formally accepting everyone's well wishes.

Benedick stood surrounded by various women, all lamenting his loss.

"Now, ladies," he said, his voice affectively saddened. In truth, he would miss their attention, but not much more or for very long. "Do not cry for me. I shall return a hero!"

They giggled and chattered over each other, all bestowing their hothouse flowers at him.

"Maybe I will returned wounded and maimed," he predicted. "None of you will look upon me then."

They all declared the opposite, saying they would nurse him back to health most affectionately. He laughed and gathered the blooms to his chest, promising each of their owners he'd miss her most of all.

From over their heads, his eyes were drawn to the fiery entranced of a new person. His stomach tightened as Beatrice paused to take in the scene of departing soldiers and the women whose lives were surely to end without them. Benedick nearly chuckled at the revulsion he could feel radiating from her.

In her hand, she too held some flowers and his bristled. Which solder would be so unlucky as to receive a wilting blossom from the cold-hearted Beatrice? She held no perfect arrangement from a flower shop. No, her bouquet had been plucked from a neighboring field. Just like her: wild, independent, and completely beautiful.

Benedick scowled at the random description at the exact moment her eyes met his. Upon seeing the sour look on his face, she glared in defiance. Her attention turned to the entourage surrounding him, and her eyebrows arched, shaking her head in disgust.

Inexplicably feeling empty as she started to look elsewhere, Benedick glanced down at his nearest admirer, some pretty blonde who worked in the dress maker's shop. She batted hopeful eyes at him, eager for a special favor that would make her stand out from the others.

He started to address her when, from the corner of his vision, he saw the prince, the prince!, walk over to Beatrice.

Ice filled Benedick's veins as his leader stood nervously before the lady. They smiled and talked, Benedick aching to know what they were discussing. To his horror, Beatrice to started to blush and shyly gave a large flower to her companion. Don Pedro accepted the token and bowed with perfect grace. Beatrice's curtsy was perfectly executed, if not a little stiff as she tried to remain proper. The prince departed, and she looked down into the remainder of her flowers, a little smile gracing her face.

As if pulled by an invisible force, Benedick broke free of his audience, not hearing any of their pouty complaints. His eyes honed in on his red haired Lady Disdain.

She saw him approaching and stood straighter, ready for combat.

His head dipped back as a form of greeting. "Lady Beatrice," he said formally.

"Signor Benedick," she replied coolly. "Have you tired of all your followers so quickly?"

Despite himself, he smiled. "My heart breaks for each sad face I leave in Messina."

She smirked. "Indeed. Well, consider your heart a little stronger than you would have feared, for my face is not sad."

He could not deny that her words stung. It was a revelation he cared not to dwell upon. At all. "No?"

She shook her head and stood even more rigid, as if guarding herself against a strong gust of wind. "No, for my heart is not so easily given and therefore can withstand a few months of separation."

He stepped forward. She swallowed a gulp of air, uncomfortable. "It may be more than a few months," he said.

At that, her stoic mask faltered, just a little. "Tis only a small battle," she argued. "The prince assured me."

Upon hearing the mention of his leader, Benedick bit back a snarl. He chose to ignore why he suddenly felt such animosity for his more than generous commander.

"No guarantees can be made in war," he said more softly. "I may not come back at all. Shall you be sad then?"

"A little," she conceded. "For who shall be my fair opponent?"

He stared at her for a moment. "Who indeed?"

Rallying, Beatrice gave a small, genuine smile. "I know you to be a fine soldier. So much, I vow to each all of your killings."

He grinned at her insult. "You shall be well fed indeed."

Nodding, Beatrice fidgeted with her flowers.

Benedick eyed the small bouquet, a lovely mixture of blooms only found in the fields of Leonarto's villa: rare treasures bright and cheerful.

He stepped forward and she became a little rigid at his proximity. "I would fight more true if I had a talisman from a lovely lady."

Her cheeks burned, but she huffed and waved at the generous assortment in his hand. "You have all the luck you'll need."

Without ceremony, he dropped his entire burden, his eyes staying upon her fair features.

Her mouth dipped in astonishment.

"I am in need of a token, My Lady," he begged.

The flush upon her cheeks traveled through her entire form. Benedick inhaled sharply, taken aback at how luminescent she appeared.

Wordlessly, Beatrice fumbled through her bouquet, pulling out the largest of her collection: a rose that nearly matched the striking red of her perfect lips.

She held it out to him, and Benedick's skin sparked as their fingers touched.

Accepting the bloom with an overdramatic reverence, he smiled. "Thank you, My Lady."

Her head dipped a little and he could hear her breath catch in excitement. Without another word, she spun on her heel and fled.

Benedick felt a little colder in her absence, but he placed the flower up to his nose and closed his eyes, its scent forever reminding him of the haughty yet soft Lady who'd been so kind to offer it to him.

He would return to his Lady Disdain, he vowed. And he would never leave again.


	5. Nearly

_Technically, this isn't during the day. ^_^_

**Nearly**

Beatrice practically ran out to the far garden, the cool air a blessed relief for her foggy mind. The previous half hour's events blurred in her mind, and she leaned against an obliging statue of some sort of deity, taking in deep breaths.

Did the Prince of Aragon just propose to her!? She stared in disbelief at the ground. Did he really? Was that what she'd heard?

And what did she do in response?

All color drained from her face as she recalled her laughter. How he might have taken that! She gulped, remembering the fear in her uncle's eyes; that she'd embarrassed his guest, the prince.

But honestly, the idea that she, the orphaned niece of the governor, would hold any temptation to such a lofty suitor. She nearly snorted again at the thought.

With a slow exhalation, she rested her head against the statue's rear-end, hoping she hadn't done too much damage for her uncle to sort out. She gazed at the thousands of stars dancing above, her mind twinkling along with them at the thought of actually accepting the prince's proposal. Maybe it wouldn't have been so bad.

She shook her head. No, such dreams were meant for more naïve dreamers, like her cousin. Beatrice knew better than to think a future with a prince would push all her troubles away. For all she knew, they could increase, and she felt much better in the safety of maidenhood.

Laughter could be heard from the villa, and she could not help but smile at what everyone was so cheerful about. Hero and Claudio, two bright and young lovers with nothing but happiness and perfection before them.

If she didn't love her cousin so, she'd snort at the sentiment.

The night air started to chill her previously-heated skin, and she pushed herself away from the statue, eager to rejoin the group, if only for a little while longer.

She'd gotten but two steps away when she nearly collided with an oncoming storm of temper and hastily-packed luggage.

"Whoah!" she exclaimed, jumping back. She tossed her hair back and glared at the intruder, only feel herself burn all over when she met his eyes.

With an expression of anger-filled horror, Signor Benedick dropped his two bags and stared at her.

"My Lady!"

"Signor Benedick!"

They remained still, completely stunned at seeing the other.

Beatrice exhaled. "Well, I see now that we've established who the players are," she started and glanced at his bags. "Why the props?"

Benedick stiffened, still staring.

Beatrice smirked at the small beauty spot that remained as part of his earlier costume.

She rubbed her own cheek. "Your beauty stuns me," she said.

Angrily, he rubbed the ornament away and tossed it to the ground.

She frowned, not liking his lack of stomach for a good verbal joust. After the disaster with the prince, she needed someone to answer back to her. But then she remembered when she'd last seen Benedick, and the hateful things he'd said about her.

"So, am I to guess you're to abandon your post?" she asked, again gesturing to his bags.

He blinked, and looked down, as if seeing them for the first time. He grabbed at them but missed at one of the handles, swiping only air instead. "Even though it is not your business, but yes, My Lady."

She felt a sudden sting in her heart which she pointedly decided to ignore. So many things had happened in the last hour that she couldn't handle his departure as well. "Why?" she challenged. "Is Count Claudio's removal from bachelorhood such a blow? You must find a new sworn brother?"

Benedick looked confused. "Count Claudio?" he repeated and then his mouth dropped as he remembered his comrade. "No, I care not what he does."

Beatrice glared. "You are a good friend to him and my cousin."

He looked angry. "You will be off soon enough to forget about her."

Caught off guard, Beatrice was momentarily silenced.

Benedick took that moment to finally claim the bag he'd missed. He heaved it upward. "I left my leave at the Prince's door. I shall be off to Padua."

"Why?"

"There's no point in staying."

Beatrice took an involuntary step closer to him. "What has happened to make you alter your opinion of Messina so quickly?"

He looked pained for a moment, as if confessing whatever troubled him was too difficult to voice. "I find it much too…hostile."

Beatrice's eyes widened. "Is this because I called you the Prince's jester!?" she asked, incredulous.

He remained silent.

She sighed in disgust. "You disappointment me, Signor Benedick. For you have always been a willing and able opponent." She studied him. "What has caused you to lose your will?"

He stiffened. "It would not do for me to spar with the Prince's wife."

That stunned her. "What?"

Benedick dropped his bags and took a step toward her. She braced herself but did not step away. His arm flailed behind him. "I heard the prince proposed to you."

Beatrice could only continue to stare, dumbfounded.

Benedick's shoulders slumped. "And I found the news most disturbing."

Beatrice crossed her arms over her chest. "Because you cannot abide your friend being married to some shrewish harpy?"

The remark seemed to stun him. Pure contrition crossed his face, confusing her all the more. But anger quickly masked it again. "Because the union is most ill-fitting."

She clutched herself tighter, half-wishing she had accepted the proposal. "You are not in the position to make such a claim."

He stepped closer. "Am I not?" he asked, his voice thick with something Beatrice had never heard before. It send shivers down her spine as his eyes bore into hers. "Am I not your combatant? Your worthy foe?"

Beatrice suddenly felt as cluttered as she had in the crowded ballroom. She backed away only to find herself trapped by that damned statue again.

But Benedick did not come any closer. He searched her face, breathing heavily.

"Tell me, Beatrice," he said. "Tell me he didn't propose to you."

Beatrice's heart was beating so strongly in her chest, she wondered if he could hear it. The look in his eyes actually caused her pain. "He did," she said tightly.

A funny snarl overtook Benedick's mouth. He shook his head, unable to meet her gaze any longer. "Then I wish you find happiness in the match." He backed away, taking all the warmth away with him.

Beatrice gasped, panicked for a reason she dare not acknowledge. Don't go she tried to voice, but no sound came out. She cleared her traitorous throat. "I did not accept."

Everything around them froze. Even the stars paused in their winking merrily above. Benedick and Beatrice stood still, gazing at one another, saying things they could never manage with their vast repertoire of words. Beatrice remained firmly glued to the cold marble behind her, but also pulled to him by the expression on his face. She watched as it changed from despair to something else, something that made him look so much more handsome than the usual disdain and dismissal he always threw at her.

She felt her cheeks start to warm as if siting by the fire for too long. The heat overcame her so strongly, she had to push away from the cold statue again. Taking a step closer to him, she marveled at how shy she felt.

He gaped at her. "You did not accept?"

She sighed at the memory. "More like I laughed at him."

Benedick's laugh was one of relief. "Of course you did!"

Beatrice buried her face in her hands. "I shall be thrown out, I am sure!"

"No, I do not think you will be," Benedick assured her. He waited until she looked up to meet his eyes. He still looked so unsure. "You…you did not accept?"

The softness in his voice, fear roughing its edges, wiped away all desire to argue from her. Suddenly, she felt she only wanted to rest in his arms. The thought did not conjure the distress she once thought it did. She just shook her head. "He would not be able to keep up."

Benedick smiled, the normal saucy smile that had irritated her so in the past. But under the stars, it looked different somehow. Different and yet it made her feel something she had not felt in a long time. "No one could," he whispered.

Beatrice blinked and looked down at his bags. "So, will you remain in Messina?" she asked. "At least until the wedding?"

Benedick nodded. "I desire nothing else."


	6. Was Mine

_A Requested Sequel to "Nearly"_

**Was Mine**

Don Pedro pulled his jacket off and flung it over a heavy marble railing. Also discarded was the wool fedora. He had been uncomfortably hot for the last hour, the lights and liquor making him sweat throughout the festive masquerade.

So much had happened, and yet, oddly, nothing had changed. At least not for him.

But he'd tried.

A mortified groan escaped his throat as his mind mercilessly brought him back to that disastrous…what _was_ that? A proposal?! What the hell had he been thinking? _Beatrice?_ Leonato's proud and haughty niece? Not even of noble birth. Oh, how his father would have scorned the match.

But the prince couldn't help himself. _Proud_ and _haughty_ weren't really words he would have applied to her fiery and merry spirit, encapsulated in her vivid red hair. She was bright and shining; just being near her made him feel more alive.

Oh, how he wished he could go back and stop himself from making such a dreadful revelation. He blamed the wine and the easy conversation. For the first time, he had Beatrice all to himself and they were actually having a nice back and forth.

And then he'd just said it!

Don Pedro closed his eyes against the memory. Her laughter. Of course she'd disbelieve he'd been serious. She was too beautifully naïve to think she was worthy of a prince. (_Oh, she was worth ten princes.)_ And maybe, hopefully, she still thought that he'd been half-serious. He couldn't even remember what really happened after her drawn out "Nooooo" other than her trying to apologize and his desire to find a small crevice in which to burry himself.

Don Pedro, Prince of Aragon, had felt lower than a stable boy, and all he had to blame was himself.

He looked up and saw Hero and Claudio dancing, and his mouth twitched upward. Their plot to unite Beatrice and Benedick in love made his own heart feel less tight. The results would prove highly entertaining.

Of course they would rebuff such attention; it would be amusing to see how two people who clearly hated each other would react to being told the other was in love with them. Part of him felt guilty; it would not do to play with the emotions of a lady so fair and strong (and yet vulnerable) as Beatrice. But she was merry enough to have a laugh about it. And Benedick…well, the man might be silenced for an hour or two after hearing such news. That would make the endeavor worth it.

Don Pedro shook his head, guilt fading away. It was just a silly game.

He turned away from the festivities and gazed out at the garden. Next to a statue in garden's center were two people. He leaned lower, his eyes squinting. It was a man and a woman, standing very close. A twinge of shame tried to enter his mind; he was undoubtedly viewing a private moment. But he felt he deserved something after his humiliation.

A cloud finally moved past the moon, filling the garden with rich and pearly light. The woman tossed her hair over her shoulder, and Don Pedro's chest tightened. Her red hair.

_Beatrice_.

His eyes darted to her companion, a man standing much too close. Don Pedro's mouth dipped. It was Benedick.

They appeared to having an animated conversation. _Could they possibly have any other kind?_ But there was something in their stances, in how they reacted to each other, that made the alcohol churn heavily in Don Pedro's stomach. Something was different.

If it was possible, Benedick stood even closer, his hand reaching up to caress Beatrice's cheek. Even in the distance, Don Pedro could see her stiff shoulders relax, and he could easily envision the pretty glow on her cheeks.

A mixture of shock and remorse flooded over him as Beatrice's arms rested on Benedick's shoulders, pulling him toward her. The pair moved behind the large statue, and it was impossible for Don Pedro to tell where one ended and the other began. All he knew was they were staying there for a very long time.

A faint realization that he was spying on an intimate encounter, and who it was, finally overcame his surprised fascination. He turned, eyes and mouth still wide. He quickly looked back again just to make sure it was not a trick of the moonlight. They were still there, although they appeared to have separated, but the prince whirled around again, unable to keep watching.

What had caused this?

He looked at the other party-goers, oblivious of the new development. Don Pedro blinked, still disbelieving.

Two people who fought, yelled, jarred, jabbed, and clearly despised each other. What had he missed? What had they _all_ missed?

Through the shock and bewilderment, Don Pedro felt a heavy weight press over his shoulders, rendering him motionless as clarity settled over him. It was so obvious. Of course they argued and fought. The lingering gazes. The too-quickly spoken dismissals. Two people with similar dispositions and insecurities and brilliant ability to mask their fear with jests.

Beatrice and Benedick were two halves of the same whole. And what Don Pedro just witnessed was the arrival of the inevitable. Whatever had happened to tear down the walls they hid behind, he realized it had only been a matter of time.

Very soon, a second exchange of vows would soon be celebrated in the villa.

So much had changed. And yet, he was still the same.

And he knew he could be happy for them. Eventually.

First, he just had to mend the soreness in his chest at losing what really could never had been within his grasp at all.


End file.
